


Christmas Sanctum

by Thundercatlola



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Christmas Tree, F/F, Lesbian Elodie lives in my head rent free, Merry Christmas to all reading, My headcanons, only at the beginning tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28329345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thundercatlola/pseuds/Thundercatlola
Summary: It's Èlodie's first Christmas in the Entity's Realm.
Relationships: Elodie Rakoto & Zarina Kassir, Élodie Rakoto/Zarina Kassir
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Christmas Sanctum

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas from the Fog! :)

_Èlodie pushes softly through the jungle foliage, feeling warm rain drops curl from the leaves and kiss her skin as she brushes past. The mossy earth is moist and springy beneath her bare feet, and the air is sweet with the scent of ripe fruit._ _Her lips part in silent admiration as she takes in the nighttime beauty of the rainforest. She’d kept the images of her homeland tucked away within her mind for so long..._

_Now that she’s here, the memories won’t leave. It makes Èlodie’s heart twinge to remember when her family was still around… guiding and protecting her. In this instant however, the pain is just a bittersweet ache; not the overwhelming pulse of grief she experienced most often._

_She feels safe walking these ancestral grounds._

_At least, until the black Fog rolls in._

_The Frenchwoman can only watch in dismay as a dark mist comes creeping over the jungle floor with a faint hiss. The forest grows silent when it arrives, until the only remaining sound is a strange rattling from somewhere high above Rakoto’s head. S_ _he takes a few uneasy steps back. Her feet suddenly sink into the ground, wet dirt oozing over exposed toes._

_Èlodie yelps and quickly kneads at the mud, aiming to push herself up and out, but this movement only causes her to slide deeper into the crumbling earth. The sludge seeps around her ankles with a wet gurgle._

_Rakoto carefully bends to dig herself out, flinching as a stray raindrop hits the back of her neck and travels down. She swipes a hand across her nape to get rid of the trail of water, but pauses when her fingers meet something sticky._ _As Èlodie slowly pulls back her hand, she freezes in horror. A watery crimson smear streaks across the pads of her fingers._

_Blood._

_She whips her gaze upwards, and is greeted by the horrid sight of two disembodied heads, lying facedown, tangled and swaying in the vines above her. The heads look recently severed; neck stumps still glistening with blood. Blackening tongues loll past bloated lips, and the pair of heads peer at Rakoto through glassy white eyes._

_They are the heads of her parents._

_She screams and careens backwards, scrabbling in the slushy dirt. The mire eagerly sucks at her arms and legs, pulling her down deep into the swelling mudpot. Creases of scarlet pour in filthy red rings along the swirl of the sinkhole. The smell grows rancid; like rotting meat and curdled milk have been thrown into the damp dirt._

_“Èlodie… Èlodie… Èlodie... Èlodie... Èlodie…”_

_The heads are chanting._ **_Her parents_ ** _are chanting. She can see their dead eyes stretching wide; blue lips mouthing her name in a terrible loop. She can’t cover her ears, can’t block out the madness which threatens to linger._

_The bloody mud bubbles around her neck. The black mist looms ever closer._

_“Èlodie… Èlodie... Èlodie…”_

“Èlodie?.. Élodie, it’s Claudette. Are you awake?” 

Èlodie jolts up, and almost fails to stifle the frightened gasp breaking past her lips as the botanist shakes her shoulder. Claudette’s touch is light, but the imprint of her hand sends lightning bolts crackling through the nerves of Rakoto’s arm. She can still see swinging heads and dancing shadows out of the corners of her eyes. Her pupils only dilate in fear.

Claudette quickly spots her friend’s chest heaving and backs away, giving the panicked Frenchwoman some space to breathe. “Calm down, Èlodie. It’s just me. I’m sorry I startled you.” She says ruefully. 

“Nngh… Claudette...” Èlodie tilts her head back, blinking blearily at the tent canvas and inhaling through her nose as she tries to reclaim some air. “N-No, you’re fine.. Don’t apologize. _Jésus Christ_ … Is it time for trials again already?”

“Not quite yet, actually. Thank goodness.” Claudette shifts back onto her heels. She tries to smile, but it appears as more of a remorseful grimace. “Dwight wants everyone out and gathered by the Campfire. The Entity left us a little surprise last night… Again, I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Élodie attempts a reassuring tone as she wipes away some of the cold sweat gracing her forehead. “...Give me a minute to get dressed?”

“Of course.” 

Claudette crawls from the tent, sparing her friend one last glance before she lets the flaps close. Meanwhile, Èlodie scowls and rubs her knuckles deep into her eyes, trying to shake off the clinging fog of her nightmare. She throws aside the pile of blankets she’d been huddling under and fishes for her jeans, eventually tugging the worn denim over goosed skin.

Rakoto shoves on her boots and makes her way out of the little spare tent, walking briskly towards the welcoming glow of the Campfire in the distance. Quite a few people are already milling around, from what she can see. A couple others are still stumbling out of their tents, wanting to see what the fuss is all about.

When Èlodie reaches the Campfire, she’s left stunned for a minute by the unusually carefree atmosphere. The blaze of the bonfire seems a bit cozier than normal, and rather lighthearted chatter buzzes around the cheerful flames. Several Survivors clutch bright bow-wrapped boxes, or sit and pass little treats to each other eagerly. 

“Hey!” A quick tap on her shoulder makes the Frenchwoman whirl around. A smirking redhead- _Meg_ , Èlodie remembers faintly- stands behind her, clutching a pretty bundle tied with blue and gold ribbon. 

“Your present accidentally got switched with Feng’s. Sorry about that.” She chuckles and dumps the parcel in Èlodie’s arms. “Who knew even the Entity can mix up when wrapping?”

Rakoto stares at the athlete’s retreating form in utter confusion, before blinking down at the box with bewilderment. She reluctantly sits on a vacant stump towards the south of the fire and pulls the top from the mysterious package. Inside the box sits a bar of _Ritual Madagascar 75%_ , two tea candles and a perfume-filled flacon, all nestled in the folds of an ugly emerald and white sweater.

Èlodie’s jaw drops. She traces over the gifts with wide eyes, waiting for them to crumble and vanish. She waits for the cruel trick to be revealed. 

But nothing happens.

So Rakoto digs deeper into the parcel, and draws out a stretch of lime-colored fleece that makes her pulse flutter. “My onesie...” She exhales. A weak smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as she runs her fingers over the soft green fabric. 

“You got one too?”

A brunette woman with sharp eyes flops down against a log across from Èlodie, nonchalantly examining her fellow Survivor from under the drooping beak of her hooded penguin pajamas. 

“What?” Èlodie jumps a bit, glancing warily at the unwanted visitor. She thinks she remembers her name… Zarina. “Yes… I used to own it, before I arrived here. I have no idea how it…” She trails off awkwardly, but Zarina just nods in understanding.

“I think maybe if it was significant in our lives before, that would be enough for the Entity to steal it.”

“Mmm. The only significant thing I ever did in this was drink a bottle of _Jacques Selosse_ every Christmas morning.” Èlodie finds herself bluntly admitting. Zarina barks out a laugh, much to Rakoto’s surprise. 

“You sound like a woman of good taste.” She smirks, and something inside of Èlodie does a little flip. “By the way, Jane told me a few minutes ago that we’re leaving soon- you might want to change in before everyone goes.”

“Leaving? You mean we’re going outside of camp… All of us?” Èlodie raises her eyebrows in interest. 

Her companion shrugs. “This is my first... Christmas in the Fog, so hell if I really know. From what I’ve heard so far, there’s some kind of tradition everyone's raving about.”

“Sounds dangerous.” Rakoto can’t help the small smile that creeps over her face. Finally, something she can tackle in this hellhole. “Count me in.”

*

The onesie is just as snug as she remembered. Èlodie crosses her arms over her chest, kneading her exposed hands into the fleece to keep them warm. 

She tries hard not to concentrate on the shadows looming from every side, tries to tune out the unnatural ambience of the surrounding forest. The Survivors tread through the darkness with purpose, but they are well beyond the border of the Campfire and encircled by nothing but untamed shadows and mist. 

Any Killers who might stumble upon the group now would discover only easy pickings… Maybe this "tradition" is really just a death march. 

Just as Èlodie’s paranoia is about to get the best of her, however, she and the others spy an obscure ring of light in the distance. It's like the flash of an oasis in the midst of the desert; stirring the heads of the group into a thrilled run. The wave towards the back must stumble forward in order to keep up, and for a good minute Èlodie fears that what they see is only a hallucination; a malicious trick of the Fog.

But the glow grows steadily the further it’s approached; beckoning the Survivors to it as easy as moths to flame.

Èlodie ducks beneath a thick row of pines and falls nearly face-first into a haven. 

A giant oak tree stands proud in the middle of the glade, extending graceful branches wrung with all sorts of treasures. Twinkling golden crowns and beautiful lunar lanterns adorn the boughs. Broken ornaments reflect gleaming spots of white. Pale blue fairy lights glimmer under rows of thick green leaves; shining like captured orbs of frost. 

The Latin inscription of _Sanctum_ lies carved in the broad trunk of the tree. Withered white petals are spread at the base of it’s weaving roots. The Fog itself hovers at the border of the glade, reaching black tendrils hesitant to be burned by such luminescence.

 _It’s the Survivors’ Christmas tree_ , Èlodie realizes as she stares at it, amazed. _A place where you come to feel safe and content, surrounded by the ones you love…_

Speechless, she gazes around at the throng of people with whom she puts her life in the hands of day after day. They are smiling, embracing, laughing together. They are happy, for the first time in only God knows when. Happy because they know that they still get to be with each other, even in a place as cold and hopeless as the Entity’s Realm.

And that, she knows, is the true nature of the Christmas spirit.


End file.
